


cold blue steel and sweet fire

by mothwrites



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Alternate Universes, F/F, One Shot Collection, Prompt Fill, Slow Dancing, and everywhere else, relationships are difficult in space
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-17 10:31:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10592163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothwrites/pseuds/mothwrites
Summary: “And I’d choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you.” (Kiersten White). Assorted short Minowski/Lovelace fics, written for prompts, mostly AUs.





	1. never knew i was a dancer

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "a fic based on the song 'Delilah' by Florence + the Machine".

_It's a different kind of danger_   
_And my feet are spinning around_   
_Never knew I was a dancer_   
_'Till Delilah showed me how_

“This is a waltz,” Minkowski commented offhandedly one day as the latest alien transmission played over the speakers. “I danced to this once.”

Sitting a little ways away from her in the bridge, Lovelace lifted her head from the computer screen as her interest was piqued. Seeing her inquisitive glance, Minkowski gave an awkward little smile, and tried to return to her work.

Lovelace was having none of it. “You _danced_?” She raised an eyebrow and grinned. “When? Where? Is there footage?”

Minkowski rolled her eyes. “Is that so hard to believe? It’s only a waltz. Anyone can waltz.” As she returned to updating navigational logs, she didn’t see Lovelace rise from her floating-seated position and straighten up. It was only when the captain coughed, and outstretched her hand, that Minkowski looked up again.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” she said.

Isabel’s smile only got wider and more mischievous. “May I have this dance?” she asked. “Come on, live a little. And I could use the break,” she admitted, stretching her neck with her other hand. “Just don’t tell the colonel.”

For a moment, she thought Minkowski would refuse her, and she prepared to laugh it off and go back to her reports. Then Renée sighed, smiled a little, and took her hand.

“You’ll have to dance the man’s part,” she told her. “I don’t know it.”

“I do,” Lovelace said smugly. “All girls’ boarding school.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

They fell into a comfortable three-step, navigating zero gravity with relative ease after so many years stuck on the station. As the music swelled, Lovelace pulled her out into a spin, and silently, triumphantly rejoiced as Renée let out an honest-to-God laugh and spun herself back to meet her. The memento behind the movement pushed them close together – very close – and they stopped dancing for a moment in favour of staring.

Lovelace leaned in, and as she did, the music on the speakers crackled and died, taking the moment with it. Minkowski pulled away, the awkward smile back on her face. Lovelace cursed.

The comms buzzed, and Eiffel’s voice rang out over the speakers. _“Sorry, folks. That’s your lot for alien FM today. We’ll be back with our next regularly scheduled broadcast… whenever. Until next time.”_

Lovelace winked. “Until next time,” she promised.


	2. protocol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "AU where Minkowski was an officer on Lovelace's first mission."

Lieutenant Minkowski - Renée – approached her that evening in the observation deck. Isabel had been so preoccupied, lost in her own thoughts, that she almost hadn’t noticed the younger woman floating up to her side. In her hands she held what looked like one of the empty exercise books from the supply closet.

Somehow still always one for proper protocol, Renée waited for Isabel to address her first. And somehow it was comforting.

“Lieutenant,” Isabel said, indulging her. “How can I help you?”

Renée had been clutching the exercise book so hard, there were faint finger marks on the cover. “Captain, sorry to disturb you. But I heard that some of the crew had been giving you letters,” she said. “For their families. I was hoping I could give you this, for my fiancé. And my parents.” She handed over the notebook, and then let her hands return to an “at ease” position, although she looked anything but.

Isabel turned the book over in her hands. “They _did_ give me letters,” she said. “On their deathbeds. So if this is you trying to tell me something…”. Suddenly worried, she searched Renée’s face for signs of illness, or fatigue. “ _Are_ you trying to tell me something?”

“No, no,” Renée said, in a hurry. “I feel fine. Physically, anyway…” Her fingers fluttered in front of her as she tried to find the words. “I guess I just wanted to, I don’t know, cover my bases? I’m not ignorant. It’ll get me, sooner or later. I just wanted to write to Dominic while I was still… lucid.”

Her hands were still fluttering, almost shaking, and Loveless took them in her own, letting the notebook float nearby. “Quit that. I’m going to get you home,” she promised. “Me, you, and Elias. Don’t give me this defeatist crap, Renée. You’ll see your fiancé again.” When Renée didn’t answer Isabel squeezed her hands, and for the first time, noticed that she wore no engagement ring. Perhaps it was protocol. Perhaps it was too hard look at.

Isabel looked at the woman in front of her – her forthright, honest, beautiful lieutenant – and thought it was a damn shame that no one had kissed Renée in over two years. She took Renée’s face in her hands, and leaning forward, pressed a light kiss to her forehead. A silent moment passed, and then Renée finally let herself collapse, curling her arms around Isabel’s waist and drawing her close. Individual tears floated in the air around them like they hovering among the very stars they could see from the observation deck.

“You’re going home,” Isabel promised her. “If it’s the last thing I do.”


	3. the name on everybody's lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "anything to do with musicals". Musical theatre summer camp au!

Renée Minkowski returned for her second year of the Hephaestus Summer Theatre Camp with two important pieces of knowledge to boost her confidence.

1) She was in her last year, which meant she was finally guaranteed a lead role in _something._

2) Isabel Lovelace had graduated and presumably gone off to college, and so Renée was no longer in danger of making an idiot of herself in front of the hottest girl she’d ever met.

Renée blamed Isabel-call-me-Lovelace for every single mistake, failed dance step and bungled audition she’d made last summer. It wasn’t her fault that the powers-that-be had decided to cast the object of all her teenage fantasies in _Calamity Jane_ that year _._ (She still had dreams about those suede trousers.) She’d been so distracted at the audition that she hadn’t managed to land the second female lead, and instead watched enviously from the wings as Alana Maxwell sang “A Woman’s Touch” with her rival-slash-crush. Renée had ended up playing Sarah the missionary in _Guys and Dolls_ instead _,_ and it seemed like every time she ran into Isabel that summer she’d been wearing that _awful_ temperance band uniform costume.

This year, she’d finally be able to concentrate on her part. Hera had emailed all the regulars with information she’d gleaned from listening in on her mother’s phone calls, and on the drive up to camp with her parents Renée had obsessively texted the summer camp group chat to see what gossip anyone else might have. Hera had sworn up and down she’d heard her mother mention _Chicago,_ but Renée wasn’t convinced – it wasn’t Goddard’s usual style.

**doug:** _chicago? with all the short skirts and red lipstick and hot jazz babes? good thing lovelace isn’t here this year – minkowski would faint ;)_

**renée:** _hey!!! okay I changed my mind, I haven’t missed you at all_

She was teasing, and he knew it. She’d missed _everything._ As they drove through the gate and up the drive to the school building, a rush of excitement and warm nostalgia passed through her. Her last year at Hephaestus – creaky, falling-apart, crazy Camp Hephaestus. She hugged her parents goodbye in the foyer, and then went straight to the sign-in register. Hera had arrived the day before with her mother, one of the camp teachers. She could see a tick next to Eiffel’s name too; he was setting up the sound booth already and finding new hiding places for his cigarettes, no doubt. She scanned the list for any other regulars she could remember; they were scarce this year, but she saw Maxwell and Kepler’s names, although they hadn’t arrived yet, and Jacobi, who had. (Jacobi had played opposite her as Sky in _Guys and Dolls,_ and it had been an interesting exercise in trying to perform heterosexuality for the both of them.)

She heard the sound of footsteps and the wheel of a suitcase approach behind her. “How long does it take to tick your name?” A familiar, amused voice asked.

Renée whipped around. Isabel Lovelace smirked at her. “Hey, Minkowski.”

“L-Lovelace,” she stammered, frowning in surprise and confusion. “What – what are you doing here? Didn’t you graduate already?”

Lovelace’s smirk lessened slightly. “You didn’t hear? I was in an accident. Got held back a year, so they sent me the camp mailer to my school like usual, and… here I am.” At Minkowski’s stunned expression, she laughed. “It’s like _Hotel California_ right? You can never leave!” She sang a few lines of the song, demonstrating the gorgeous alto voice she’d honed over five years of summer theatre camp.

“It’s… really good to see you here,” Renée said, once she’d got over the surprise. “I mean – God, I’m sorry, it’s not good that you were in an accident, but – “

“Chill, Minkowski,” Lovelace laughed. “I know what you meant. It’s good to see you too.” Was it Renée’s imagination, or did Lovelace look her up and down with that pleased, far-too-attractive smirk on her face? “Are you trying out for _Chicago?_ ”

“You heard about that?”

“Hera leaked the show list, right?”

“Oh, right. Any chance to get back at her mom,” Minkowski joked. “Uh, yeah, I thought I might. It’d be a nice change from last year.”

Lovelace hummed a few bars of _All That Jazz._ “Well, I hope you do,” she said as she leaned over Renée to tick her name on the sign-in sheet, getting awfully close as she did so. She turned her head so their faces were inches apart. “I’d love to play the Velma to your Roxie,” she said, and _winked._

Renée had to remember how to breathe as Isabel walked away with her suitcase, whistling _Roxie_ as she turned the corner.

“ _Fuck,_ ” she whispered. She was so _screwed._

  
**hera:** _uh, did I just see ISABEL LOVELACE in the foyer?_

**renée:** _what? where are you spying from? w/e. EMERGENCY MEETING IN THE SOUND BOOTH._

**doug:** _shit give me like.. ten minutes to uh. clean the place up for y’all_

**renée:** _eiffel I’m not a hall monitor this year and I don’t give a crap about your contraband cigarettes  
_ **renée:** _in fact, a contraband cigarette is exactly what I need right now_

**doug:** _oh boy  
_ **doug:** _in that case, ladies, come on down and feel free to bring your contraband alcohol, your juicy school stories, your unrequited lesbian crushes…_

**renée:** _EIFFEL_


	4. read all about it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: reporter/superhero au.

“Eiffel, this is _crazy_ – “

“No! For once, you are going to let me have this!” Eiffel stared at her wildly in the midst of the chaos, clutching his portable voice recorder so hard she worried he’d break it. “We are going to pull up our big-reporter pants and interview our favourite badass space chick and there is nothing you can do to stop me!”

“ _Eiffel!_ ”

With a slightly manic grin, Eiffel wormed his way out of the grip she had on the collar of his denim jacket and slipped away, giving a whoop as he ran into the small-scale battle that was tearing up the streets. Renée Minkowski sighed, and for the thousandth time, wondered why the hell Dominic had hired him. Then she grinned, and followed suit.

“Watch out!” she yelled at her partner, taking fifteen pictures a second with her press camera as she did so. Together they ducked and weaved past flying debris and the occasional killer robot, trying to get as close as they could to The Captain who was fighting above their heads. No-one knew her real name, of course. She was just _The Captain_ ; beautiful, powerful, and possibly an alien. (She’d never confirmed it with a reporter, but she could fly, so that wasn’t really a stretch.) Privately, Minkowski thought she was too gorgeous to be human. Stardust glittered on her dark skin and her black, braided hair whipped around as she fought off the last of the attackers. She seemed to _glow._

“Whoah,” Eiffel breathed out. They’d given up trying to get any closer, and were staring up at the scene in the sky as The Captain finished fighting her way to a resounding victory. “She’s something, ain’t she?”

“She sure is,” Renée agreed. She held up a hand over her face to shield her eyes from the sun, and then gasped. She’d made eye contact with The Captain, but that wasn’t what had scared her. It was the last attacker coming up from behind the superhero as she’d paused to survey the scene.

“ _Captain!_ ” she yelled, waving her hands. “ _Look out behind you!”_

The Captain immediately turned, and with milliseconds to spare, threw off her attacker. (Actually threw it. Into a building. Eiffel cheered.)

The Captain touched down gracefully in front of them. “Thanks, kid,” she said. “Now would you two kindly get the _hell_ out of this war zone in case these bots have bigger friends?”

“ _Can we interview you?_ ” Eiffel blurted out. “Like, whenever you’re not busy…”

“No,” The Captain said firmly, although she was still smiling. Renée realised the woman was still looking at her; looking her up and down, in fact, and still smiling. “How about a coffee?” she asked.

Renée could do nothing but dumbly repeat her words. “A – a coffee?”

“Mm-hm,” The Captain said, amused. “Not an interview. A coffee. With _you_ , _”_ she added, pointing at Minkowski. “Later?”

Renée blinked.

“ _Give her your number,_ ” Eiffel furiously stage-whispered from the corner of his mouth. “ _I swear to God._ _Give her your – “_

Wordlessly, Renée slipped her business card from the stash she kept in her suit trouser pocket and handed it over. As The Captain took it, her fingers lingered over Renée’s hand. “Thanks,” she said. “Renée Minkowski,” she read off the card. “Renée. Pretty name.”

“What’s yours?” Renée asked, finally finding her voice – and her reporter’s tenacity – again. “Or do you always go by _The Captain?_ Seems wordy.”

For a second, she thought she had offended her. Then The Captain paused, as if deliberating, and said: “Isabel.”

Eiffel was practically _vibrating_ beside her, and she hoped to God he’d turned on the recorder before The Captain – _Isabel_ – had touched down in front of them.

“Can we quote you on that?”

“I’ll call you,” Isabel said in lieu of an answer. “Thanks again for the help. Now get to safety, okay?” She mock-saluted, and laughed as both Eiffel and Minkowski sprang to attention. “I might like you two,” she said finally, with a glint her eye, and flew off.

“ _Minkowski…_ ” Eiffel said, gleefully flapping his hands. “Did you just…?”

Renée watched The Captain until she was just a speck in the blue sky. Her hand was still warm from where the other woman had touched it.

“Let’s get back to the office,” she said, half in a daze. “This is going to be… one _hell_ of a story.”


	5. the lady raking in the chips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More musical theatre summer camp au! Prompted by no-one in particular, it just cheers me up to write it.

“Hera, I need a skirt,” Renée said as she burst open the door to the tech box. “Um. What are you..?”

Eiffel jumped about a fit into the air. “Minkowski! Knock first!”

“We’re not smoking!” Hera squeaked, and then burst into giggles beside him.

Renée dragged a hand down her face. “Not a hall monitor,” she reminded them both, through gritted teeth. “ _What_ did we say about giving Hera weed?”

“It’s just laughing gas,” Eiffel protested, gesturing to the discarded balloons and whipped-cream canisters littering the sound decks. “Totally and 100% harmless. I promise.”

Hera got to her feet, still giggling, and dusted down her dress. “What’s this about a skirt?”

“I need something… sparkly,” Renée said reluctantly, and gestured to Hera’s entire… being. “You have all the sparkly things.”

“It’s true,” Eiffel added, holding up a discarded cardigan that was covered in silver sequins and tubes that Renée suspected could light up. Hera’s life ambition was to be as big an annoyance to her mother as possible, so whenever Miranda Price stated that she thought a certain fashion trend was _hideous,_ Hera would immediately run off to Hot Topic with her mother’s credit card and become its new poster child. Last year she had turned up to camp in ripped jeans and skater slogan shirts. Somewhere around the next Christmas Miranda had turned her nose up at some ‘cyberpunk’ kids in the street, and Hera had fallen in love.

She clapped her hands in excitement. “You never let me dress you!”

“I’ve never auditioned for _Roxie_ before,” Renée grumbled. Although she knew she had the strongest female voice in the company, and a great stage presence, she didn’t usually try out for parts with so much… sex appeal. She lived in shirts, jeans and boots, and never bothered bringing anything else to a camp where she’d spend half her time in costumes anyway. However, the competition for the _Chicago_ leads looked to be fiercer than she liked, and she knew she’d need something more special than her usual audition style.

“If it helps, you’re not competing against Maxwell this year,” Hera informed her. “She’s trying out for _Heathers_ with Jacobi. And Lovelace wants Velma, so you’ll walk it, right?”

“Right,” Renée said, trying to keep the dubious tone out of her voice.

“You look stressed,” Eiffel said helpfully. “Balloon?”

*

“Hey, Minkowski!”

Isabel’s eyes widened as Minkowski turned around. “Uh, holy crap.”

“What?” Renée said, a little too defensively. Hera had been very… _enthusiastic_ about the glitter. It didn’t help that she was about a foot taller than the other girl either; Hera’s skirts just about reached her mid-thigh. “ _Perfect for Roxie,_ ” she had said. Now, with Lovelace apparently speechless, she wasn’t so sure.

“Uh,” Lovelace said, letting out an awkward laugh. “You, uh… You look great,” she continued. “Wow. Are you really the same girl who played Sister Sarah last year?”

“Sure am,” Renée replied, gaining a little confidence from the way Lovelace’s eyes were suddenly trained on her legs. From their position in the wings she could see the director’s table, and so was ready when Mr Cutter – the voice that terrified many a young aspiring star – called out her name.

“Well, break a leg,” Lovelace said, snapping out of her daze. Renée thanked her, and hurried on stage before Mr Cutter’s pleasant voice turned ugly.

“Renée!” Mr Cutter called jovially as she walked on stage, slightly awkward in her borrowed heels. “What a pleasant surprise. Are you sure you have the right audition? We’re also putting on _Meet Me in St Louis,_ you know. I always thought you were more of a Judy Garland than a Zeta-Jones. Or there’s always a use for a sensible alto like you in our younger people’s productions!”

“I’m auditioning for Roxie,” Renée said, trying not to let the comment sting.

Cutter waved a hand in a gesture that signalled she should start. “Well, in your own time.”

Renée took a deep breath, and glanced at the wings as the music started. Lovelace was still staring. A _Roxie-_ ish smile spread over her face, and she began to sing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> where is this au going? we just don't know  
> as always, catch me on tumblr @captainlovelxce for prompts and headcanons!

**Author's Note:**

> Chat to me/prompt me at @captainlovelxce on tumblr!


End file.
